


In Your Shoes (The Inside-Out and Upside Down Changeling Remix)

by bell (bellaboo), bellaboo, usomitai (bellaboo)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bellaboo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/usomitai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amber and House disagree on what constitutes an apology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Shoes (The Inside-Out and Upside Down Changeling Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Topaz_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Changeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691) by [Topaz_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes). 



"What good do you think it'll do?"

Amber shot a glare, knife cleaving through the tomato. "It'll make him feel better, which'll make _me_ feel better."

House--might as well call him that--hoisted himself on to the counter, inches from the boiling sauce but not recoiling from the rising, shimmering heat. He swung his legs, kicking up high. The plastic bits in his Nikes caught the kitchen's lights. "He still won't forgive you."

Amber sliced fast and hard, the dull thwack-thwack of the blade against board echoing. Careless like this, she might hurt herself, but last night she'd slept only an hour or two. Again. Exhausted, she couldn't make herself be cautious. "Cooking isn't an apology and I already said I was sorry." It hadn't even been that big a deal. She'd forgotten to pick up James' dry-cleaning this morning and he'd had to go out with a less-than-pristine suit. She'd said sorry, he'd said it was okay. That was that.

"Sorry isn't enough." With each downswing House's heels banged against the cupboards. He might not be affected by the boiling water or the summer heat wave, but sweat started to run down Amber's brow, trickled down her throat. She felt ready to burst. Maybe she already had. "Not for what you did."

Thwack. "I didn't kill you."

House smiled with the smile of a trapper who'd snared his prey and delighted in watching it struggle. Even as a figment of her imagination he was as annoying as fuck. "I didn't say you did. Interesting that you assumed that's what I meant, though. Guilty much?"

"No." A throb pulsed at her temples: a migraine was on its way. Surprise, surprise. As if hallucinating Wilson's dead best friend weren't sign enough. Of all the rare migraine symptoms to get, she had to end up with this one-- though hers didn't _really_ match typical patterns. House had been hanging out with her for days now, only ever leaving in those few, fitful hours she slept, and hallucinations were supposed to happen only just before the pain. But what other explanation was there? No way she was going to start believing in the afterlife—especially not if it meant _House_ coming back. The world couldn't be that cruel, nor could this figure swiping a slice and throwing it into his mouth be a ghost. "Shut up, House."

"Just trying to help you." House licked his fingers, lavishing his tongue over their tips. "It doesn't matter if you killed me or not--"

"All I did was not pick you up at a bar!" Amber exploded, her voice ringing loud and clear.

"You still blame yourself. _Wil_son blames you."

The thud in her head hardened, but she refused to wince in front of House. She'd take naproxen in a bit. Maybe she'd even go into the clinic one of these days and get a prescription for tolfenamic acid. Before the crash she'd had James write her scripts, but she didn't want to worry him with this. He had enough on his mind.

For now Amber grabbed the board, whisking it away from House's thieving hands, and shoved the slices into a bowl together with the cucumbers and assorted leaves. The orange pulp and seeds clung to the edge of her hand. "I'm not listening to a hallucination."

"You already are. That is, if I'm a hallucination." He peered into the pot. "Add some basil. And celery. If you're going to cook for forgiveness, you might as well do it _right_. Not that it'll absolve you."

A turn-off button. Was that too much to ask for? Just a few hours to get rid of this 24/7 parade of doom and gloom. Amber yanked out the elastic band holding her hair together and tied her ponytail looser. It might weaken the throbs at her temple, as regular and deep as her heartbeat. "If you know so much, what _would_ make James forgive me? Not that I'm saying he blames me."

No, not blame. Even that night when they'd identified the body--what remained of it--James had told her, eyes bloodshot, that it wasn't her fault for not answering the phone. She'd had all the reasons in the world not to answer calls from House. How was she to know he'd needed a ride home from a bar? They'd gone home together that night, James and Amber, and she'd held him as he lay still, eyes wide with shock. He'd fallen asleep near dawn and Amber stroked his hair until she too fell into unconsciousness.

They hadn't touched in the three weeks since.

House raised an eyebrow, a leer twisting his mouth. Of course.

Amber turned the faucet on, running her hands beneath the thankfully cold water. It felt so strange, like something out of this world. "Why did I even ask you? Like you ever got James to forgive you."

"First of all, I thought you thought I'm you, so if I am, you're really only asking that yourself. Second, oh, I _ruled_ at getting 'James' to forgive me. I was The Master."

"Did you ever do it by bending over?" House simply stuck out his lower lip and shrugged. Ghost or hallucination, Amber shouldn't have expected an answer, much less an honest one. The answer wasn't important now anyway, with House dead.

Although it was a part of the recipe, Amber refused to add basil or celery to the sauce. It was the principle of the matter.

~~~~~

After she'd made dinner, Amber switched on the TV and sat down on the couch. House took a seat next to her and mercifully shut up, watching his soap. Amber herself found herself surrendering to the pliant cushions, sinking in further and further. Her eyes started to flutter; who knew, maybe she'd get in a nap.

That was when the key sounded at the door. She sat up abruptly, swerving her head towards the entrance; the sharp movement had her wide awake again. She wouldn't be sleeping again for a long, long while. Amber squashed the familiar stab of resentment; it wouldn't help. Spending time with James would.

"Five hundred says he'll want to sleep right away," House said.

"Like you even had five hundred when you were alive," Amber scoffed.

"Didn't say five hundred _what_," House retorted, but Amber ignored him. James had come in, rubbing at his cheeks and eyes. His arm holding his briefcase was limp, falling straight down.

"Hi," Amber said, getting up. She refused to look at House, who had suddenly appeared behind James, mouthing her words back at her and making faces. What mattered now was James. As long as she kept reaching out to him, she'd eventually succeed. She had to be here for when he was ready to come back to her.

James pulled his hand away from his face long enough to look her way and sigh. "Hi." He laid his briefcase over his desk, running his fingers over its leather before tugging at his tie's knot. He didn't go so far as to undo it.

"Yeaaaah, he's forgiven you for sure," House said, back at Amber's side, speaking into her ear. It was hard to not snap back at him, but by now she was used to not reacting to him around other people. She couldn't let herself be distracted; she had to keep her eyes on the prize.

"How was your day?" Amber asked. If James would just open up to her, let her in, then she could make a world of difference, she knew. It didn't have to be all at once. Just a little bit would be okay, for a start. If he didn't give her that much then she couldn't _do_ anything.

James' shoulders dropped as he bowed his head. "You know. Long."

"You could take a break, you know--" Amber started. He'd insisted on going back to work the Monday after the crash, to her shock. She'd tried to convince him he needed more time off, but he'd just shaken his head at her and kept on organizing his papers like she hadn't said anything. She'd even gone to Cuddy and demanded she force James to go on leave, since he obviously wasn't thinking straight. But Cuddy, her posture as strained as a tightrope, only grimaced and told Amber she'd already tried, to no avail. James had been adamant.

And he was just as adamant now. Why? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Why wasn't anything she did good enough? Amber shut down those House-like thoughts before they could advance any further. Might as well ask why lemmings jump to their death. Grief was grief and they just had to deal with whatever form it took. He wouldn't want a fight now and frankly, nor did she. She wanted to just be with him, for once. "Anyway. I made dinner--"

"Thanks." James turned the corner of his mouth in what wanted to be a smile. "But I'll just go to bed early." If he didn't notice how her face fell, maybe it was because she hid her reaction too well--but more likely it was because he turned around too soon, trudging into the bedroom like weights dragged at his feet. Her resentment burst out again, sharper than before.

"Told you it wouldn't work," House said from behind her. "You gotta pull out the big guns, sweetheart." The word 'sweetheart,' of course, was laden with House's sarcasm.

He was right. He'd been right about the dinner not being enough, about James escaping straight into bed, and now about pulling out the big guns. _Damn_ House. Amber hated how he was right even from beyond the grave. Amber followed after James. The battle wasn't over yet and she still had a war to win. He'd taken off his suit and, his tie undone, the two tails lay on either side of his chest. "Are you still upset about the dry-cleaning thing?" she asked.

"What?" James said, looking at his reflection in the closet mirror. His hands worked at his shirt's buttons, starting from the top. She wished he'd stop hiding in himself and face her already. She'd been willing to give him time, but how long did he need? "No, of course not, honey, don't worry about it."

"C'mon!" House exclaimed, right behind her. Amber saw him reach out and wave at James. It was hard to tell if the force in his voice was playful drama or urgency; probably the former. House didn't do caring. "He's undressing! This is your chance!"

Amber pressed her lips, unable to tell House to shut the hell up. Not like it'd do any good. She wasn't going to touch anyone, not even James, if she didn't feel like it. As frustrated as she was, this close to shaking James and asking what the hell he wanted from her, she wouldn't use herself as an apology, not ever. She just had to forget House was there and focus. "James--"

_Talk to me. I know you need time to recover. You're pushing me away. You're still angry. Stop pretending. I miss you._

It was everything Amber meant to say.

But she was choked silent as House wrapped his arms James from behind. His bare forearms were reflected in the mirror, as was his head, perched on Wilson's shoulder. What the _hell_? What the fuck was House up to? Bad enough he haunted James; he didn't need to add this level of mind-fucking. Amber wrenched forward but to her shock, she barely even twitched. Trying to wake up from a nightmare and getting nowhere, Amber jerked without moving. Her heart raced like she was running for her life, panic uselessly pumping adrenaline through her.

James seemed as stunned as she. He turned to look at the face besides his, then back at the mirror. Since when was House touchable? Amber had never tried to grasp House, but neither ghost nor hallucination should be tactile. "I--don't think this is a good idea," he said, staring into the reflection of House's gaze. Amber couldn't agree more. Nothing involving House was a good idea.

"Nothing worthwhile ever is," House muttered so quietly Amber barely made it out. _So_ typically House, cynical and despairing. She never really got what James saw in him. And why wasn't he freaking out at seeing the dead? None of this was making any sense. None.

But James' alarm seemed to soften, as if hearing his old friend's darkness comforted him. His eyelids lowered to mere slits and he leaned back into House, his whole body sagging. With a low, deep voice, "I missed you."

When House kissed his temple, James just sighed.

Amber couldn't move. She was a rooted tree, blood and muscles turned to wood. But she could feel. Oh, how she could feel. She felt the heat and moisture of James' breath against her chin before his lips on her. House kissed James and James responded, turning around and pulling his arms around House's waist. The small of her back tingled as James stroked the small of House's back, sweet and tender, the way he always did when they were about to kiss. Amber's mouth dried up. She'd known James had been with other people, maybe even House, but she'd always assumed--hoped--that that gesture had been special. Something _they_ shared. It'd made her tingle, that small touch, made her feel lucky in love. And now here was James, doing it to House when he'd barely been able to look at her for a month.

No. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

It wasn't--it wasn't that she hadn't longed for James because, oh God, she did. She missed him like sunlight after a week of night shifts. He'd been sullen and withdrawn, not at all like what she saw now, swaying into House and jaw moving slow and rhythmically as he kissed deep. James had gone into his own world and pushed away, working so much he was never home and only ever used their bed for sleeping as if she'd never meant anything to him and it'd taken the death of his best friend to realize that.

And he was kissing said best friend.

_No_. Amber, stuck, could only stand there and feel her organs coil and twist like vines round bark. She didn't care that maybe they'd been together because that was in the past and therefore over, along with all the wives and girlfriend and boyfriends, but House wasn't even _here_ anymore and he still had James wrapped around his finger and there was nothing, nothing she could do.

House, lips still disappearing and reappearing round James', quirked an eye open and smirked at her with what was left of his mouth. The look seemed to go straight through her, revealing all that she was: the leftover girl. It was House's buttons coming undone by James' fingers, but Amber felt naked. Humiliated.

House stroked him just above the hip with his thumb and Amber wasn't at all surprised at how James moaned; that spot always got him. But it _was_ strange when James stumbled forward, falling into bed. He hated making out in his work clothes. They didn't look the same after, he said. Not even after dry-cleaning.

They fell onto the mattress and writhed, arms fumbling and legs rubbing, and as much Amber loved watching porn of all kind, this she just didn't want to see. Or hear, or smell. But her eyeballs were wedged open. She couldn't look away from the truth. A month she'd done everything she could to help with James' hurt--everything he'd let her, that is. She'd known House's parents had been in town only after the fact, but she could've been there; instead, she'd sat by Cuddy as James delivered the eulogy. And now House just waltzed in and took James up in his arms and James _let_ him.

_Stop_, Amber tried to at least mouth. She couldn't.

"Why should I? Wasn't this what you wanted?" House said as if he'd heard hear subliminal message. He was on his back, arching as James undid the last button, pushing his shirt open.

"What?" James asked, voice slurred.

"Nothing," House reassured and shut him up with a kiss.

What she'd wanted. Amber still remembered James' touches from before the crash and how good they made her feel. Even now, if she were capable of reaching into her underwear, she'd surely find herself wet. What she wanted.

What she wanted was to not have to feel so damn guilty all the time. Was a boyfriend whose face she saw for more than ten minutes a day.

Was a James who saw _her_.

And with a blink and a gasp it _was_ her beneath James, sweat-soaked and shivering and surrounded by the odor of James' arousal. Her breasts were out and exposed, nipples pinched and heaving as she took in deep breaths. James stared at her with dilated pupils, half-frowning.

"What?" he asked again, voice alarmed this time. He hoisted himself up, elbows on either side of her shoulders.

Amber turned her head to rest a cheek against the cool, navy bedspread. Her muscles resisted her still, making it difficult to do even that much. They were stiff and aching and uncooperative. But she felt like she could breathe again, oxygen feeding her cells. "It's too soon."

James' face fell. He rolled over and sat up. "I thought you wanted this."

Amber sat up too, buttoning her blouse. "I did. But not like this."

With a tremendous sigh, James ran a hand through his hair, only to cover his face with both hands. He stayed that way a while, breathing in and out from within his cocoon.

"Good going," House said, rematerializing on Amber's other side. He was fully dressed again. "All you had to do what put out and you _blew_ it." But Amber didn't bother to even look at him, waiting for a further reaction from James.

He eventually slid his hands down, dripping from his cheeks to his chest to his lap. "What _do_ you want?"

"I don't know." Amber sat up, crossing her legs. His hair was plastered against his forehead and she gently swept it away. "Why don't you start telling me about your day?"

"You think that's going to solve your problems? Small talk?" House demanded.

James closed his eyes, not really responding to Amber's soft touches. Maybe she'd hoped for too much too soon. "Or we could just lie here," Amber said, resigned. It was what he'd wanted when he'd come in today. She certainly wouldn't mind the chance to maybe fall asleep, even if only for a few minutes.

He let out a limp and ragged laugh, startling her. "Or we could eat. I'm starving," he said.

Gratefulness rushed through Amber. Gone was the immobility; she felt ready to run. "Okay, I'll go heat up dinner."

"For crying out loud!" House exclaimed a little too loudly for someone right next to her. "That's just some meaningless gesture; how long do you think it'll be before your relationship goes back to falling apart?"

He went on ranting, but Amber pushed his noise as far back as she could into her mind. She brushed her lips lightning-fast over James', not wanting to pressure him more than that. "Ten minutes," she promised. Her hands gripped his shoulders. This was good. This was a start. She could work with this and then everything would be okay again.

"Great," James said. His face was pale and long, and his smile was more memory than feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my bestest who was there with me from beginning to end, writing this story. Her editing made this fic better!


End file.
